Men masturbate just as surely as the sun rises and sets, both celestial creatures of habit in a world where not a lot makes sense. For the sun, its purpose is to provide warmth. For men, our purpose is to procure that warm feeling that comes along with pulling on oneself until all of our worries melt away like icicles in the spring. But what if the worst possible scenario were to occur? Forget a nuclear scenario, we’re talking Defcon Zero type shit; what if masturbation were made illegal? Your “white” would suddenly be a punishable offense much like cocaine is. But what would actually happen?

Professional sports are already drenched in testosterone and machismo. Without the ability to blow off a little steam at home while mired in a hitless streak, I’m fairly certain that sporting events would become bloodbath showcases. Take a sport like football, which is already a violent display, then tell Ray Lewis or Brian Urlacher that he can’t jerk it anymore. They’d count the fatalities on the scoreboard and they’d be scored like safeties.

Men don’t masturbate only because it feels like Christmas morning. They also do it because it’s a stress reliever that doesn’t involve lighting anything on fire (from candles to Sour Diesel Kush). Without the ability to do that, marijuana would have to become legal. Did you ever wonder why people in Southern California were so docile; it’s because they can smoke weed and tug on their skin boards legally.

I’ve never been one to protest anything, not because I consider myself a nihilist, but because I often times don’t feel informed enough spout off at the mouth. In the case of an outlaw on jerkin’ off, I’d go to the God-damn end of the Earth to tell someone about my displeasure with the decision. I could just picture a bunch of unshaven guys sitting in front of the lotion factory, using that greasy opus, Lubriderm, as their rallying cry. “Hell no, we must stroke!”

Masturbation is better than a throat-full of Ambien chased by a bottle of Two Buck Chuck. Without the ability to go “nighty-night” with a little “fisty-dick,” men would walk around like fatigued zombies.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One… blast off. Without the ability to rid the body of all that sticky rocket fuel, when given the opportunity to release the propellant in a more traditional fashion (with another person), it would be over in a matter of seconds, and probably cause the other person to be shot clear across the room.

Conventional wisdom tells us that a 99 percent of a man’s thought revolve around sexual maneuvers, and whether he could pull them off on every single woman of age that crosses their path. That leaves only 1 percent to concentrate on things that keep him alive; eating, sleeping, bathing, working etc. Without the tool necessary to stave off those sexual desires, men would essentially be a one trick pony like a GPS device. Where as that tells you where something is, a man would only be good for telling women that “he has a penis, and he needs to use it.”

Ask any man the first thing he thinks about when that person in his life who is really in charge of his daily routine (girlfriend, wife, mother) (fix this, hold this, eat this) leaves for an hour or two. I’ll help you out. “I’m gonna work myself over for at least twenty-minutes, then I’m going to make a sandwich.” Without the ability to make masturbation an appetizer, guys don’t really need any free time. In all honesty, a guy’s whole life is just tiny moments in between whacking off.